Rest
by straitjackit
Summary: The warmth rose in her cheeks as she held them tightly. Sequel of sorts to Finding Narnia.


I'm dedicating this to Callie; I know I didn't explain it well, but her redemption was spreading the tale of Narnia and Aslan, and therefore Christianity. _She could swear she heard a slight laugh; musical and inspiring, the laugh of Aslan himself _was a reference to this fact. Her husband's reaction was writing the story, hence being Clive S. Lewis.  
But you wanted a sequel.  
I'll give you a sequel. I seem to do this a lot. I want you to know that I've never worked this fast before!  
Also to TimeMage0955; you _cried_? (blushes)

Title: Rest  
Summary: The warmth rose in her cheeks as she held them tightly. Sequel of sorts to Finding Narnia.  
Warnings: Character death. Yeah, pretty much it. Apart from fluffiness and cuddles. Ick. Part of the story is paraphrased from The Last Battle. **I highly recommend you read Finding Narnia first; you may be confused otherwise.  
**Disclaimer: See profile.

* * *

Clive smiled softly as he looked at her face one last time. 

It had been three years to the day that Susan had told him about her adventures in the lands of Narnia, along with her brothers, sister, cousin and even complete strangers. It had been three years since she vividly described the amazing landscapes, the kindly creatures and the magical enchantment of the land. She spoke of being a Queen, and while he watched her, he knew it to be true. He could see it in the way she unconsciously held herself; regal, proper, lady-like, as graceful as a swan. He saw a new fire light up her eyes (the most beautiful brown orbs he had ever gazed into, as he told her on their first date. She had laughed and swatted him upside the head), while her gestures became open and inviting, energetically emphasising what she said in a rapid babble of flowing verse.

She had even started talking as she had once done, and had blushed furiously when he asked her to translate it.

Susan had told Clive her storyin order to make him understand how big a part of her very soul was Narnian, but she had accidentally done more.

Clive was inspired. After she had finished discussing the finer points of Narnian life with him, they had snuggled on the sofa until she had eventually fallen into a peaceful sleep; the first in years, Clive had noted. He kissed her head gently and stroked her hair for a while, before slipping out and grabbing his notebook.

The words simply flowed. He wrote down the tale of the four Pevensie children and their first trip to Narnia, slightly exaggerating certain characters as she had seemed so passionate about them. He finished writing the tale quite quickly, amazed at just how inspiring the tale was. The story encompassed the reader, brought them into the magical realms of this world, and made them feel like a part of it. It was like a fairy tale, but Clive had no doubt it was true.

He had seen it in Susan's eyes.

Still in a frenzy, he had grabbed his jacket and rushed to his publishers. They had accepted the tale right away and shook hands, congratulating him on a fantastic job.

It was on shelves and in homes literally weeks later.

Susan had been slightly annoyed to begin with, but had calmed considerably as she saw how happy some of the children were. Clive quickly followed up 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe', as he had called it, with 'Prince Caspian' and 'The Voyage of The Dawn Treader'. He hadn't been too happy, writing the third tale, as he had to slander his wife a bit, but he dealt.

He got his revenge by making Rabadash look far more foolish than Susan had described him. Upon reading the written tale, she refused to speak to him for three days.

When she finally forgave him, she only had one thing to say.

"Well, you're as much an ass as he was."

A short while later, Susan found out she had cancer. Clive had been distraught, as the doctors told the couple that she would not last long. He had demanded they get second and third opinions, give her treatments, but Susan had taken his head in her gentle hands and looked him in the eye.

"Clive," she said to him softly. And in that one word, he knew all she was telling him.

Lewis continued to write the tales of Narnia, until he had six books. Susan had once told him more tales, but her condition was deteriorating rapidly.

It took only another year.

She had died, smiling at her husband and wrapping her arms around him. The cancer had stolen her youthful looks, taken her health and turned her into a cripple. She was stick thin, her once radiant hair turned to a dull brown, lifeless. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin almost as pale as the Witch she described to him in what seemed like a lifetime ago. She was zapped of any energy and was confined to her room, yet she was happy as long as her husband was there, and as long as people appreciated the tales of her lifetime.

He had laid on the bed next to her, staring into her dazzling eyes and failing to stop the tears from falling from his own. She had moved a hand slowly, brushing it against his cheek, always with a weak smile on her face. She truly was Susan the Gentle.

"Clive, I love you more than you know, but please don't be sad or I shall have to hit you."

Clive had laughed, in spite of the situation. The threat was too unimaginable.

"I'll see you again, my love. Though, I do hope you don't bother to visit me for a very long time, you know."

With that, she snuggled closer to him, and fell asleep. He laid there the entire night, even after her limp body became as cold as ice and her breathing stopped.

He pulled a dagger from his jacket. He had started to organize her possessions the day after her death, just as Susan had requested in her last hours. She had said that she wanted her objects to be of use to people, not just reminders of something that had gone.

He had, however, retained a few things.

Walking over to the coffin, he took the small blade and laid it next to her side, putting one pale hand over the top and wrapping her fingers around it. He knew she would want to take it with her, and not have it left lying around for someone to misuse.

He stepped back, taking a moment to memorise her face. She looked peaceful, content in death. The room she was laid out in smelled of a most delicious but indescribable scent, similar to honeydew, yet not. The sun seemed brighter in there than the rest of the house, too.

He reached for the lid of the casket and smiled down at his wife, the true love of his life.

"Goodbye, Susan. Say hello to your family for me, please?"

With that, he shut the top.

He had a final story to write.



Susan had closed her eyes, lying next to her husband. When she opened them, she stood in a golden field.

Tilting her head to the side, she pondered over the possibilities. She remembered talking to Clive, but she couldn't recall anything she said except for 'I love you'. And the field did seem oddly familiar…

Gazing around, she noticed a flash of green in the rear of her view. Looking down, she gasped as she saw the elegant gown upon her figure. It was a soft forest green, made of the finest silks and velvets, as soft as you can imagine and more. It reached to her feet, clad in slippers of the same colour, and then she noticed that her hair had grown; it now reached her knees in a cascade of sparkling raven.

She raised her gaze once more and gasped as she took in the landscape. Even a brief glance told her all she needed to know.

She had returned to Narnia.

She was about to leap for joy when she noticed something odd. Everything seemed the same, and yet, different. It is hard to explain exactly what was different. The simplest way to describe it is as if everything had a deeper purpose or meaning; every blade of grass, every gust of air, every rock and grain of dirt. The colours were somehow brighter than they had ever been before, the air somehow sweeter than she remembered. I'm afraid I can't explain it much better than that; if you ever get there, you'll understand.

"Susan?"

The woman span around upon hearing her name, to see three figures clad in clothing of the same calibre as her own. One of them, a lady slightly younger than herself and with golden hair that rivalled the sun, burst into a sudden run and all but jumped upon Susan, crying. The older man also did the same, a very undignified act for his rank. The last man, darker than his companions, much like Susan, came to her at a slightly more sedate pace, but hugged her with far greater ferocity.

"Peter? Lucy? Edmund?" Susan managed to gasp out after a long silent group hug. Each of the people let go, backing away slightly, tears now staining all present faces. The darker man nodded, grasping her hand once more. He went to speak, but paused and looked thoughtfully, almost quizzically, at her. She could almost hear his mind working, and was so intent on absorbing his and the others features once more that she almost missed his words.

"You put me in a dress."

Susan blinked for a moment, unable to comprehend his statement, before laughing loudly.

Of course, he was on about his former body. The others soon started laughing too, but Susan abruptly stopped.

"Does this mean… I'm… Dead?" she asked timidly. Peter nodded to her, understanding etched into his features.

"Aslan has kept us informed about you, Su. I'm sure he'll do the same for Clive. You picked a good man there, by the way."

Standing up and rubbing at his face to try and rid himself of the red tracks on his cheeks, he offered a hand to his oldest sister.

"Come on, Su. Mother and Father are waiting for you."

Susan felt her whole body fill with unimaginable elation as she walked with her siblings once more. She missed her husband, but she would see him again.

One day.

* * *

Aw. Kinda sad, I guess, and not quite as good as Finding Narnia, but sequels generally aren't. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and maybe I'll see you again when the inspiration strikes me (most likely sometime this week. I'm in a very Narnia mood). I admit, I never thought I'd write a Last Battle fic, or even a Susan fic, but there you go.  
Review, please?  
Yours,  
Straitjackit. 


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